


Rough Day

by Talkin_to_a_Lady



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Bounty Hunters, F/M, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, Low Honor Arthur Morgan, Rough Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-05
Updated: 2019-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:21:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24509845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Talkin_to_a_Lady/pseuds/Talkin_to_a_Lady
Summary: Low Honour Arthur isn't happy when he has to go play errand boy for the Sheriff. He figures he can get more than monetary reward from this Bounty
Relationships: Arthur Morgan/Reader
Kudos: 32





	Rough Day

“Ain’t I got enough on my plate?” Arthur was pacing in front of Dutch’s tent as his mentor watched, vaguely amused at the man’s angry flailing, “I saved John from gettin’ eaten by wolves, I had to go out huntin’ _in the goddamn snow_ , I almost got killed jumpin’ onto a train, I’ve got Strauss on my back, I almost got my ass handed to me by some _giant freak o’ nature_ , and you made me go and break _Micah_ outta jail!” he stops and looks at Dutch as the man smirks thick cigar smoke through his teeth, “And now you want me to walk into a Sheriff’s office and pick _posters off a wall?!_ ”  
“It’s easy money, Arthur. Most of the unfortunate souls on those posters are just fools who tried their luck and _failed_.” Dutch steps beside his friend and slaps his shoulder.  
“ _Is everyone else busy_?” Arthur huffed.

“They’re not going to put up a fight if _you’re_ standing there. You won’t even need to use a gun! Now, stop complaining, son,” Dutch walks him towards the horses, “just go to Valentine, _ingratiate yourself_ with the Sheriff, and give him a hand. _Besides,_ it’s a good way to keep an ear close to any news about us.”  
Arthur sighed, “ _Fiiiine._ Guess I’ll just do this on top of _everythin’_ I got goin’ on. Don’t let anyone else put themselves out, Dutch!”

“Thank you, son, you’re always so helpful” Dutch chides as Arthur mounts his horse, kicking off to head to Valentine at an irate pace.  
He hitches up outside the jail with a grumble and steps through the door to be greeted by two inquisitive gentleman at desks.  
“Well look here, it’s that fella that beat poor Tommy to a pulp”  
With every ounce of patience he can muster, Arthur tips his hat, “Afternoon.”  
“You ain’t here to turn yourself in now are you?” the Sheriff jokes.  
Arthur flicks a patient smile at the man, “No. I heard you may be lookin’ for some folks to help you wrangle ne’er do wells.”  
“You a Bounty Hunter, Mister?” the Deputy stands from his desk.  
“Maybe,” Arthur shrugs, “it depends.”  
“You sure as shit cause as much trouble as ‘em!” the Sheriff continues, “But I reckon you could be just our man for this job.”  
“What job is that?”

The Sheriff points to a poster on the wall, “Take it, you’ll need it for handin’ her back in.”  
He lifts the parchment from the noticeboard, “Y/F/N. Wanted. Dead or Alive, for murder and robbery.” He looks at the heavily lined illustration, “The girl? She’s wanted for _murderin’ folks_?”

“Don’t let that face fool ya, Mister,” the Sheriff joins him and lights a cigarette as he looks down at your picture, “found her sister in bed with her fella. Killed the sister, then… well… let’s just say by the time she’d done with the knife, her husband weren’t much use as a man… then he bled out.”  
“ _Jesus Christ_.”  
“Seems she was a feisty one before that; she worked in Saloons entertainin’ folk on the stage.  
“She’s an _actress?!_ ”  
The Sheriff smirks, “ _Not exactly_ … Well, anyway, we’ve got it on good authority that she’s at a Township workin’ at the Saloon, under the name Madame Darcy, just North of Strawberry, about three hours’ ride from here.  
Arthur looks up, “ _Three hours from here?!_ Why can’t their men do it?”  
“Because she’s from Valentine, and her Husband’s _wealthy_ family came to _us_. There’s $500 in it for you. $1,000 if you bring her back alive.”  
That was enough for Arthur to take the job, “Fine. Any suggestions as to how I go about this?”

The sheriff chuckled, “Look, you’ve already made a bit of a name for yourself here, _and not in the best way_. I doubt you’re gonna have much trouble. Unless you’re plannin’ on breaking her heart. You get me what I need, I’ll pay you well, _and I won’t ask no questions_.”  
Arthur folds the poster and makes his way back to the horse, “ _Unfortunate souls he says! Three goddamn hours draggin’ my ass across the country_ ,” he mutters, “ _SURE, Dutch, I’ll be a lawman’s puppet!_ ”

Three hours later, and Arthur arrives at the Township even angrier than he had been at the start of his day; he’d not eaten, it had rained for most of his journey, and this shit-kicker mining town was grey and dank.  
He hitches his horse outside the Saloon, ties his lasso to his belt and steps towards the door, removing his hat and shaking as much of the rain from him and it as possible, “ _goddamn weather!_ ” he grumbles as he tries to pick his shirt off his damp skin and pushes his wet locks back off his face, chastising himself for his choice of fingerless gloves as he flexes his hands to warm his aching digits. The Saloon is dry at least, and seems stocked with a generous selection of drinks, “You got anythin’ to eat?” he yells to the barman from the far end of the bar.  
The barman rolls his eyes and slopes towards him with a board of options on it. Arthur orders and pays for a beer, _ain’t like there’s a deadline on this thing_ , he thinks as he lets the beer coat his throat in a warm embrace. He looks up towards the stage and sees a small easel with a poster on it; its ornate font confirming that ‘Madame Darcy’ was indeed a resident of this establishment, and that she would be performing in a matter of hours, _there’s gonna be some disappointed folks_ , he smirks into his beer as the barman slops his meal down.  
“Oh, you’re in for a treat, Mister!” he says, noticing Arthur’s interest in the stage, “That Madame Darcy is a _fine_ addition to this establishment!”  
He raises an eyebrow as he tucks into his first hot meal of the day, “And why is that?! What does she do?”  
“Oh! What _don’t she do_?” the barman chuckles excitedly, “Well… apart from the things the girls have under control,” he nudges Arthur, “though ain’t a better, more _artistic_ way to ready yourself to have a little fun!”  
“Unless that girl’s got beer flavoured nipples I ain’t particularly interested in the female arts today.” He gripes with a mouth full of unidentifiable meat.  
The barman laughs, “Oh, Mister you don’t know what you’re sayin’ yet!” he leans down uncomfortably close, causing Arthur’s irritation to flare back up as he struggles to continue eating in this man’s musty shadow while he points to a corridor, “Soon as she swings her way down there, onto the stage, and sings and dances her way into your heart you’ll change your mind.”  
Arthur laughs, nearly choking on his food, “ _Singin’ and dancin’?! **That it?**_ ” he shakes his head, “Christ you fellas are starved.”  
“It ain’t regular dancin’, Mister.” He winks. Arthur watches as the man heads back to the bar to speak to his colleague, handing him a bottle of red wine and sending him down the corridor beside the stage.  
Looking around, Arthur realises he’s best waiting until the place fills up a little more before making his way down towards your room undetected. He orders a large whiskey and sits back letting his shirt drip onto the floor behind him.  
An hour passes before he makes a move. He slips past the gathering crowds, getting bumped by inebriated morons as he passes, causing his almost-dry clothes to get splashed with alcohol, _if I weren’t workin’…_ he thinks darkly at the man, his jaw clenched and hand hovering over his pistol.

You sit in your room, feet up on your dresser as you fix your fish net thigh highs to your one-piece costume, humming a low tune between sips of wine, and exchanging the glass for a soft round lint brush, removing any specks that could show up under the lights.  
 _knock knock  
_ “Come in, Benny.” You say, not moving from your seat, expecting him to tell you the forecast for the night.  
“Errr… Miss Darcy?” The low, deep grumble of a man you don’t know responds as he steps through the door, “May-may I come in?”  
You look at the reflection in the mirror; the shyness of the voice doesn’t remotely match the man it came from; his dark-blonde hair, emphasised by the orange light beside the door, glows out warmly against the black shirt he’s wearing; unbuttoned to almost illegal levels as a small black bandana hangs from his muscular neck. His broad frame fills your doorway as he stands, awkwardly handling the brim of his hat in his big, gloved hands, his head bowed. You turn your head and smile at his almost boy-like demeanour, totally charmed by it, “well of course, and who might you be?”

Arthur grins; the way to woman’s heart is always meekness in the beginning, it was a sure-fire way to get your attention, “I-I’m a fan of your work, Miss.” He lets his eyes slowly follow your curves from the tip of your heeled toes, up your crossed, shapely calves, along your thighs, over your hips, stopping briefly at your chest before continuing over your arms, shoulders, collarbone, up your neck as you strain to look at him, finally landing on your soft, full lips stretched in a juicy smile at him, _maybe she don’t need to be beer flavoured_ , he thinks to himself as you swing your legs down and stand up, sauntering towards him.  
“Well, _if you were a fan_ ,” you tease as you step up to him, feeling a stir deep within you as you look at his chiselled features, shaded by a 5-day shadow, “you’d know it’s _Madame_ Darcy.” You stand in front of him, hands on your hips.  
“Of course, I’m sorr-“  
“It’s fine. Come in, close the door, what can I do for you?” you turn and go back to your dresser, leaning down to your wine.  
“Well, as I say, I’m a fan,” Arthur says staring happily at your ass, as he shuts the door, and leans against its frame, “and I was just wonderin’ if you would sign this…?” he pulls out the poster from his pocket, and grins darkly as you lightly take it from him, the realisation smacking you in the face as the information on it shines out at you.  
You huff out a breathless laugh as you try and sound nonchalant, passing the paper back to him, “I’m sorry, but I ain’t in the habit of signin’ wanted posters of strangers.”  
“Well it’s lucky this is a poster of you, Y/F/N.” he folds his arms as he blocks your only viable exit, “Murder and Robbery, huh? And yet you still end up here, _doin’ all sorts to fellas_.”

Arthur’s eyes flash darkly as he sees your mood change; he’s needled you as your face drops into an insulted pout, “I don’t know what you _think I do_ , but I don’t like your insinuations.”

“I ain’t interested in what you like. Now, I suggest we agree to get this over and done with _nicely_. It’s a long trip back to Valentine.”

You laugh incredulously, “I ain’t goin’ with you!” you step close to him, a sneer on your face, “ _you may think you’re intimidatin’, Mister_ ,” you purr threateningly, “but you’re _one fella_.” You point to the door he’s blocking, “out there? There’s a _room full of men_ gonna be _verrrry_ unhappy with you if you try and take me away.”

Arthur smirks down at you; your sneer, the curl of your lip in vague disgust at him, he clicks back the hammer of his pistol at his hip, “ _Oh, I think they’ll be amenable_.” He growls, “And the way I see it, you’re wanted _Dead or Alive_. Now, I’d prefer _alive_ ; that $1000 is almost as enticin’ as that outfit you got on. But if I gotta, I ain’t turnin’ my nose up at $500.” He grabs your face and leans menacingly close to you, “be a shame to waste such a _pretty thing as you_ , though.”

He laughs as you rip his course fingers from your face and shove him back against the door, “ _How DARE you!_ ”  
“Lady, one way or another, we’re leavin’ this place together, and you’re goin’ back to Valentine. You don’t wanna test me today as to _how that happens_. I ain’t in the mood.” He snarls as he leans forward, his gun pointed straight at you, “and I don’t wanna cover this room in your blood, the good folks here don’t need that mess to clean up.”  
You stare at the man; he’s got you beat on all sides, “ _Alright_ , _”_ you sigh, “can I at least get changed before we go? This ain’t exactly a _practical_ outfit for travel.”  
Artur was frustrated; this entire enterprise was far from _easy_ money, but at least he could get some perks out of it. Still leaning against the door frame, he looks at you, his jaw jutting to the side as he smiles through parted lips, his tongue flicked against the inside of his molars, “ _Sure_.”

You stand looking at him, waiting awkwardly for him to leave, “… Well…? You can close the door behind you.”  
“And let you sneak out that window there?!” he gestures with his gun towards a small pane a good foot above your head, barely big enough for a child to slip through.  
“ _You are not serious!_ ”  
He crosses his arms smugly, “I think you’ll find I am. I don’t know what _tight little places_ you can get into.”  
You start to feel the sting of humiliation crawl across you, you turn to your small wooden screen and make your way to it, grabbing the clothes hanging over its side.  
“Hey! Where do you think you’re goin’?”  
You stop and look at him, “ _to get changed, **sir** ,_” you snap, “ain’t that what you want?!”  
He smirks, with a shuffle as he flicks his eyebrows, “weren’t me wantin’ you changed, Miss, but I sure as shit ain’t lettin’ you disappear behind there. Who knows what you got hidin’ back there; you could pull a gun on me in a matter of seconds. You want to get changed, you do it _right here_ , centre of the room.” He glares at you, his jaw clenched in a scowl, and points to the spot you’d stood when you’d first greeted the apparently shy gentleman.  
You huff, feeling the redness grow across your face as you drag and dump a chair at the indicated spot and throw your clothes onto it, “Can you at least turn around, or _avert your gaze_?”  
“And have you knock me out? _I don’t think so_.” He was just toying with you now, fully enjoying his abuse of power, “And you might wanna think about hurryin’ it up. I got a lotta _shit_ to do today.”  
“This is **_HIGHLY inappropriate_** _!”_ you protest, fury burning through your skin as you clench your fists by your side.  
Arthur simply laughs, “Then maybe you shouldn’t kill people.”  
“Says the Bounty Hunter pointin’ a gun at me!” you step forward maliciously, “what is it _**you do** , _again?”  
“ _I kill the right people.”_ He growls, his impatience pushing him to the edge, “And you’re startin’ to look like one of ‘em.”  
With angry reluctance you set about trying to find a way to keep some form of dignity while undressing.; you stand side-on to your guard as he watches you unapologetically.

Arthur looks on as you unhook the cotton stocking clasps from your one-piece, letting them fall against the tops of your thighs. He watches you arch your back slightly to unclasp the back of the costume, dragging his eyes up your figure; the tease of the underside curve of your ass, peering out from your black frilled knickers, kicks the air out of him as he watches you drop the costume to the floor leaving you in your shorts and fishnet stockings.  
  


You see him squirm a little; he rolls his shoulder, and closes his eyes as he cricks his neck, trying to keep his composure, the tightness of his pants already left little to the imagination, but the long shadow now swelling against his inner thigh tells you everything you wanted to know.  
You have one final idea; he really is a rather dashing man, despite his penchant for pointing a gun at you, and you’ve certainly had worse. You take the opportunity of your current state of undress, “Don’t you think that my value might be worth more to you, right now? Say, if I just don’t get dressed, and you keep that door closed for a while?” You turn to face him fully, standing into one hip, an impish grin on your face as he holsters his pistol and stands up straight.  
“I mean, you could just tell ‘em I’d moved on…?” you watch him as he flings his hat on a table close to the door and he walks up to you, a dark hungry look flashing into his deep green eyes. He stands against you; you can fee the heat rise from his chest as he watches his hand run lightly up your thigh. He smells of hooch and cigarettes as he breathes against your cheek, his nose teasing against your skin as his finger lifts a loose cotton suspender and twirls it against his thumb. You reel; the ache between your legs desperately looking to be taken as he looks down at your wine-stained lips, bringing his mouth almost against yours, as your eyes close with stuttered breath.  
“ _No_.” he tugs at your suspender and lets it drop, “Lady, your man was either a fool or I’m sad I never met your sister, if he was dumb enough to mess around on _you_. But I doubt a roll around with _any woman_ is worth more than $1000!”  
The combination of arousal and insult rages within you as he laughs in your face. He catches your wrist in mid-swing as you go to slap him hard; his grip is tight, “You don’t wanna try that. It won’t end well for you.” His voice rumbles with seriousness, “Now. I’m tired of this. Either I tie you up right now, and give everyone in this shithole of a town a _delightful_ view as I parade you through the streets in your underwear, hogtied on the back of my horse, or you get your shit together, get dressed _and behave_.” He flings your arm back to your side and goes to drink from your wine glass.  
“ _You disgust me_.” You spit as you wrench a white stain chemise over your chest,  
“Sure I do, Lady.” He chuckles into the drink, unconvinced, before picking up his hat.  
You pull a long prairie skirt on, swap your heels for boots, and fling a jacket over everything looking at him perplexed as he walks towards you; thick rope in hand, “If you don’t mind, _Madame_.”  
“What’re you doin’??” you attempt a brief struggle as he grips your wrists and begins to bind them in front of you.  
“My job.”  
“I thought if I came with you _nicely_ , I’d not suffer this!”  
“I never said that,” he says dropping to his knees, looking up at you with a raised eyebrow as he runs the end of the rope through your legs and begins to bind your ankles, “I know what you did to the last fella that upset you, I ain’t plannin’ on that happenin’ to me.” He stands up and looks at you with an expression of utter amusement, “Here we go!” he ducks down, grips his thick arms around your waist, and hoists you onto his shoulder in one swift, easy motion, “Now, no strugglin’, else you’ll get hurt,” he teases as he goes to the door.  
“Fuck you.” You snap  
“ _Maybe later_.” He goads as you try to knee him in the chest, “HEY! _What did I just say_?!” he whips his hand around and slaps you hard on your ass; smiling at the satisfying _clap_ it makes, “I ain’t puttin’ up with that shit for three hours!”

After brief exchange of words with the owners and patrons of the establishment explaining who you were, Arthur made a hasty retreat before the men changed their minds about crossing him. He throws you onto the back of his horse, face down, giving you one more ass pat for good measure, “You comfortable there, Miss?”

You struggle; winded, and far too infuriated to acknowledge his existence. The whole evening was nothing but humiliating as you hung off his horse like some dead animal, with him chuckling at your temper, “well, least it’s gonna be a peaceful journey home.”  
After you leave the edge of town, you find your voice again, “You must feel like a pretty important man right now, huh? Tyin’ up some _lady_.”  
Arthur rolls his eyes, “Guess my wish for some quiet’s gone unheard.”  
“ _Big maaaannn,_ pickin’ on some little woman. Such a _goddamn hero of the law_!”  
“You’re beginnin’ to piss me off.”  
“What? Don’t like hearin’ what you are? Some Sheriff’s little _bitch_?!”  
 _SLAP_. One thick, hard palm crashes against your ass cheek and your eyes water, “ _Don’t call me that again._ ” He growls.  
“Are you happy? Huh? Doin’ shit like this? Does it give you a sense of _goodness?!_ ”  
 _SLAP_ , “Lady, I can swing back there and do this aaaalll evenin’. I ain’t gotta problem slappin’ the skin off your behind. But I suggest if you wanna keep that pretty thing lookin’ nice, _you shut the hell up_.”  
You can feel the sting warm your skin; it’s as if his hand is still there. The pressure across your middle from being slung on the horse and trying to stay balanced is tiring, and you can feel your skirt whipping about in the wind as he pushes onwards on the journey. With every _thump_ of the hooves, every pulse of warmth from your cheek, every rub of the rope down you, and every mile closer towards your fate, your anger increases.  
“I can’t believe I get this kinda treatment!”

“You gonna keep openin’ that mouth?” Arthur complains  
 _“I’M the one_ who should be pitied! That son-of-a-bitch _with my sister?!_ If I had the chance to change how it went down, I wouldn’t.”  
“ _My heart bleeds for you_.”  
“But you wouldn’t know what that’s like would ya? Huh?” your venom aimed back at the man humiliating you, “Man as angry as you probably ain’t felt the touch of a woman in _years_.”  
With that Arthur drags the horse to an immediate halt, “Alright. I ain’t dealin with this.” He dismounts and walks around to face you as you scowl and dangle over the edge of his horse, “for someone with such a pretty mouth you sure as hell like firin’ some filthy lies outta it.” He unties his bandana and grabs you by the back of your head, pulling your hair to bring your face up to meet his eye, “You better apologise for that last remark.”  
You see the fire in his eyes through the darkness and you smirk, you’d hit a nerve, “I don’t like apologisin’ for tellin’ the _truth_.”  
“Alright.” He snaps, stretching out the bandana, “This is happenin’.” He forces the black fabric into your mouth and ties it behind your head, “ _let’s see how smart you can be now_.” He snarls, his breath hot and wet against your ear. He mounts up again and moves off.

The fabric is dry and musty, as it makes your mouth salivate you can taste the flavours of its owner; salty and smoky, the faintest hint of spice as sandalwood and almond soap bleeds onto your tongue. You groan in protest, still squirming against your binding, the rope taught against the length of your body.  
“You better keep still and quiet back there, I still got the option of $500.”  
You let your aching body flop, resigned to the fact that the man knows how to tie ropes far too well. The rope rubs tightly against you with every shift of the horse, flashing up images of the man’s teasing back in your room. Now was not the time for those sensations to hit your mind; you were still determined to let him understand quite how angry you were, vocally, despite your gag.  
For the next 90 minutes, Arthur endures almost constant noise and complaint from you. He begins to regret trying to shut your mouth; the moans and strained groans floating to his ear from behind him makes him lose his concentration to some extent. He’s tired, having barely eaten that day, the noises straining out from you just encouraging his desire to stop somewhere secluded. He stretches in one final attempt to shake his mind back to the task in hand, his saddle increasingly uncomfortable as he adjusts his ever-growing excitement, thinking about your earlier offering. He wipes his face frustratedly as you push out one long, whinging noise, and pulls his horse off the road into the woodlands not far out from Valentine.

For a minute you freeze; no noise or struggle; panicked at what will happen next. You feel a pair of strong hands grip your hips and drag you from the back of the horse, swinging you onto his shoulder and holding you by one arm as he dumps you down against a tree. You look up at him as he towers over you, casting a long moonlit shadow over your face.  
“I’m hungry.” He says matter-of-factly, and turns back to his horse to grab some food, swigging a large gulp of something from his hipflask as he goes.  
You sit waiting as he comes back to you, a can of peaches in his hand, staring at you as he throws them back like a drink, “I may have been a little hasty earlier,” he looks at you, his head tilted to one side, “sayin’ no to that proposition you were offerin’ up.”  
You breath quickens as he steps a little closer to you, drains his meal and throws the can aside, “All that fire and fight gotta be knocked outta you somehow, _right_?” he bends down and grabs the ropes around your wrist, pulling you up to your feet with one hand, “I mean, _prison can be a lonely place_ , and you may well get hung for what you did.”  
Your eyes widen as you nod desperately; half hoping to be freed, half gripped with desire.  
“ _I think everyone deserves one good thing in their life_.” His mouth curls to the side in a filthy smirk as he runs a finger between your lip and his bandana, slowly teasing the fabric out from your teeth, pulling it down under your chin as a thin line of spit goes with it, “ _and that’s just your mouth_ ,” he raises an eyebrow as he wipes the moisture from your lip with his thumb. He takes the sodden fabric at your neck, twists it in his fist, and pulls you to the opposite side of the tree.  
“Does this mean-“  
“Your offer still stands don’t it?” he asks roughly as he unties the bandanna and wraps it around your wrists, unties the lasso end at your hand, and wraps it around the tree, pulling you against it as he joins the rope’s end back to your wrist.  
“What-what’re you doin’?” you ask breathlessly as he ties off the end, leaving you almost hugging the trunk.  
“Well, I ain’t lettin’ you run off now, am I?” he mutters as he looks down the back of you, his hands at your waist, “Don’t wanna be caught literally with my pants down.” You shiver a breathy laugh as he mumbles into your hair before he slides his hands down the outside of your legs as he drops to his knees and loosens off the ropes at your ankles before standing up quickly and kicking your feet wide apart. He stands against you and presses himself hard against your ass, pushing you into the bark of the tree, “You still ain’t apologised to me. _That ain’t nice_.” He whispers into your ear as he runs his nose up your neck. You can smell the sweetness of fruit on his breath as it flows across your face.  
“Well,” you gasp as one hand runs up the front of your thigh, over your stomach and lands at your throat, “don’t make much difference now, seein’ as you got every part of a woman at your disposal.”  
He squeezes a little tighter on your throat, “ _That ain’t the point_ … **_Apologise_.” **he hisses.

“I-”  
 _SLAP_ another stinging hand against your ass cheek, you yelp, “ALRIGHT! I’m _sorry_ , okay?!”  
His grip at your neck relaxes as he runs his hand down to your breasts while the hand at your ass rubs away the sting almost affectionately, “I guess that’s a start.” He growls as he finds the hook and eye fastenings of your skirt and deftly hinges them open with his fingers, letting it drop to the ground. His hand at your front runs to the base of your chemise as he drags his hands roughly away from you. He stands back and looks at you for what seems like an eternity as you hear the metallic _swish_ of a blade in his hand.  
Your heart races as he steps against you again, teasing up the satin with the blade as he pulls the side of your ruffled knickers, “You won’t be needin’ these.” He slices the side seam and lets them slide down your left leg, taking one stocking with them. He puts the knife back and quickly removes his gun belt and pulls down his braces and looks at the red hand print glowing out in the darkness, “least I left you somethin’ to remember me by”, he says breathlessly, wrenching his pants fly open before lunging back to you, his left hand grabbing at your reddened cheek, digging his strong fingers into your flesh.  
He grabs at your jacket collar, ripping it back off your shoulder as he drags his teeth across you, his right hand moving to grab your chest tightly, as you moan softly before it drops quickly between your legs, his hips roll tightly against you with a groan as he feels your wetness on him. He plunges three fingers deeply into you as his left hand goes to your neck. You gasp with need as you feel him push his thumb against your clit and begins to rotate it hard and rough as you feel the soft leather of his glove rub against the outside of your core. Soon your moans become too much and he drags you backwards, kicking your legs wider, and pushing your back flat, “ _Get on your toes_.” He demands through gritted teeth. You grip the tree for balance and do as he says as he grabs your hips and shifts them into position. He takes one hand to himself and guides himself into you with a rough, hard thrust.  
The force with which he pushes into you knocks your face into the tree; the bark digging into your skin, cutting your cheek. He fills you, stretching you out as he pushes deeper, grabbing your hips firmly as he strains a deep, guttural growl through his teeth. You feel the slap of his hips against your ass as he slams into you harder and faster with every return; one hand moving to your spine, keeping it flat with a heavy pressure, his nails pressing into your skin before they find loose tendrils of hair which he entwines through his fingers before pulling it towards him, arching your back as he forces a low, throaty moan out of his mouth as he hits a deeper spot within you, your own pleasure waving over and over as you sink back against the hot thick length of him, pushing yourself tightly against him, your own climax pulsing inside you as it grips and releases him, your voice competing with his as you feel him twitch and throb inside you before his hands return to your hips again for one final round of hard pounds, his grip bruising your sides as he clamps his teeth and clenches every muscle as he pushes himself forward inside you, his seed firing hot into you. Tired and breathless, he rolls his hips for a minute longer, enjoying the wetness, and sight of you in front of him. He strokes one hand down your back as he hears your satisfied whimpers. With a sigh he pulls out from you, pulls his jeans back up and re-buckles his gun belt, keeping his eyes on your half-naked body the whole time.  
“So… Are you gonna help me out here?” you ask, suddenly very aware of the cold breeze caressing your very naked behind.  
“I thought I just did.” Arthur retorts smugly as he cuts your kickers off completely, and pulls up your skirt, re-clasping it at your waist.  
“ _Like we agreed_?”  
Arthur rearranges the ropes back to their initial position, “ _Oooh sweetheart,_ ” he chuckles as he shakes his head, “I think you’ll find you never actually _confirmed our arrangement_.”  
“ _WHAT?!_ ” you screech as he lifts you back onto his shoulder and carries you to his horse.  
“But I think we did us _both_ a favour.”  
“YOU SON-OF-A-BI-” Arthur shuts your mouth with one rough kiss, his hand gripping your hair before he wrenches himself away from you, smiling darkly as he sees your reaction.  
“I told you I’d knock the fight outta you. You ain’t _that_ mad.”  
You finish the journey in silence; sullen and humiliated that you are so satisfied, yet still going to prison. Your face stings as the cold air whips at your cuts.  
“C’mon sulky.” He says as he drags you off his horse and into Valentine jailhouse over his shoulder.

“You got her!” The Sheriff exclaims proudly, “Good job…! Did she put up a fight?” he winces as he sees your face bruised and bloodied.  
“Barely any.” Arthur smirks as he secretly squeezes your thigh tightly, “Where do you want her?”  
“Back cell.”  
Arthur swings you through the barred door and drops you on the tattered cell mattress and unties you with a smirk, “ _thanks, Y/F/N._ ”  
You lunge at the bars as he shuts the door and goes back to the Sheriff who is removing your wanted poster from the noticeboard.

“Good job, son, and alive! The money’s on my desk.”  
Arthur picks up the bills and turns back to the Sheriff who has his back to him, “Thanks. Listen, I just need to check she ain’t stolen nothin’ of mine.”  
The Sheriff eyes Arthur amusedly, “ _Sure_. Get one last look at her, she’s not gonna look pretty at the end of a rope!”  
Arthur nods and chuckles, he heads back to you, still with his smug grin on his face as you press your face through the bars, “You ain’t really gonna let ‘em hang me are ya?” you look at him desperately, “I mean, not after… _that_.”  
He leans his face close to yours, his elbows resting on the bars, “I figure I don’t see the harm in gettin’ $1000, and _another round_.” He winks and leaves. The silver flash of a key left at the bars.


End file.
